


Lola

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-31
Updated: 2005-06-15
Packaged: 2018-12-26 17:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: AU: Justin-in-drag!fic. Justin embraces his artistic side, which manifests itself in a girl named Lola, whom Brian begrudgingly meets one night at Babylon... [Read it. You trusted me with Straight!Brian, and I never led you astray. Now trust me with drag!Justin]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Brian Kinney only fucks men.

 

And fuck you if you think otherwise. Only not fuck you if you're a chick, or a dyke, or a transmogrified whateverthefuck. 

 

Or a twink in drag.

 

Because honestly: what is the appeal? Either you fuck men, or you fuck women, or you fuck both. Why screw up the system with some odd little gender-confused cross-dresser? Brian vaguely remembers reading somewhere that guys like seducing "girls", but finding a cock underneath all the shiny pink fabric. He understands the cock part, but it's the shiny pink fabric.... well, Brian doesn't think he'll _ever_ be able to wrap his brain around that. 

 

He should know better though. The fucking _second_ he starts _thinking_ about this shit, is the moment that said shit hits the metaphorical fan. 

 

\- - -

 

Babylon is fucking hot tonight. 

 

Dozens upon/humping dozens of slippery, glittery, half-naked gay boys, their hips rotating, grinding, twisting against each other. Like a big tangle of dance-music induced _sex_. Thumpa-thumpa vibrates Brian's chest, hips, groin, and he feels like he's been waiting hours for this moment. He needs to fuck, and he needs to fuck _hard_.

 

Michael is leaning against the bar, one of his hands tucked into Ben's back pocket, both of them laughing and gazing into each other's eyes. Brian would be disgusted by it if he wasn't so pleased that his friend was happy. 

 

"'lo, Mikey. Professor. What are two lads like you doing in a place like this?" he drawls, nodding to the bartender. A tumbler of whiskey is immediately set in front of him.

 

"We told Emmett that we'd come out to meet his friend Lola tonight," Michael explains, shifting his pelvis to the beat of the music. 

 

"Lola?" Brian asks in a gasp induced by the fiery trail of alcohol burning down his throat.

 

"One of the first people he met when he came to town, you know, back when he met Godiva? Lola moved to New York City, an artist or something, and just came back to visit Emmett for a while. She's one of Godiva's lost boys."

 

And that's why Brian shouldn't think about that kind of shit. Because stuff like THIS happens. It's fate, or the planets, or jinxing or karma or something. Now he's going to have to make nice with Emmett's little friend, and for that he's going to have to be drunk, and have been sucked off. By a _man_ , thank you very much.

 

Twenty minutes and an unsatisfying orgasm later, as he's weaving his way back through the sweaty, hard bodies of bears, studs, and twinks, he sees them. Their shadows at the end of the flourescent bar, the four of them all blue and white tones and big laughs. Emmett has arrived, and Michael and Ben are both captivated by the small blond mop of hair standing in front of them. 

 

Fucking Lola.

 

What a joke.

 

He slings his arms over Emmett and Mikey's shoulders to take in the new addition, and instead of seeing some diminutive hesheit that looks at him with fearful, uncertain doe-like eyes, he finds himself looking at someone who knows _exactly_ who he is.

 

Emmett shrugs off his arm. "Hello, Brian. This is my friend Lola. Be nice."

 

Lola has blue eyes. And extends her hand which Brian takes, tilting his head.

 

Her drag isn't like any Brian's seen before. It's almost... childlike. Jeans that are obviously a girls, with whisps of glitter climbing from a bell-bottom hem so wide that only the tips of his red sneakers can be seen. A long, fluttery top, with lace and sequins and an overall antique doll feel to it, falling from his shoulders to cover his crotch, making him seem like a prepubescent girl. His shaggy blond hair is pulled back with a red plastic barette on one side, and his lips, cheeks, and eyelashes are painted like a lady's. A terrifyingly beautiful male lady.

 

Brian glances away.

 

"Hi, Brian. It's nice to meet you. Em's told me a lot about you and your friends."

 

Her voice isn't some lame-ass faux falsetto, and yet it's smoother and higher than it sounds like it could be. It's chocolate and cherry souffle - dark, strong, and feminine.

 

"You too.... Lola."

 

Emmett slaps his arm with the back of his hand. "Brian, be NICE."

 

Brian shakes his head, laughing with no amusement.

 

"Jesus, Honeycutt, I didn't say anything! If you want, I can say something that's _actually_ rude so you can have a decent excuse to hit me..." he drawls out the last word, "No? Okay then. If you'd boys... and girl excuse me, I'm going to go dance with some real men. Ta-ta, _Lola._ " 

 

He spins and waves sarcastically, "And for that last comment, Emmett, you can smack me later."

 

The crowd of horny men instantly embraces him, hands all over his body, under his clothes. Lips against his neck. Men men men, those words go running through his head, and when he opens his eyes to glance in Lola's direction, he pretends he's looking at her in disgust.

 

Emmett has his arms around Lola's bird-like shoulders, Lola's eyes are on Brian.

 

Huh. Interesting.

 

Not that Brian is, or anything.

 

\- - -

 

He's been dancing for a while, just enjoying the vibrating, quivering, strobing sensations of the dance floor when a hand gently closes around his elbow.

 

Now that's not usual gay-dance-club touching.

 

He should have known when he'd open his eyes and drop his chin back to earth that there'd be someone else not usual standing in front of him.

 

"Everyone has been worshiping you all evening, I had to come out and see what all the fuss was about," she says, glancing around with a slightly lustful smile on her face.

 

"Yeah, get in line. I was dancing with him." Brian nods over to a shiny little latino boy with a fucking talented tongue, gyrating his cock against Brian's thigh.

 

She gives Shiny Latino Boy a once-over before looking up at Brian. Staring up at him.

 

"My name's Justin."

 

"I thought it was Lola."

 

"Only when I'm dressed as Lola," he explains, scratching behind his left ear.

 

"It's kind of pathetic you know, that you need to dress like a girl to prove your worth. It's anti-slit-your-wrists therapy."

 

Justin tilts his head to the side, long black lashes leaving shadows across his face, "I'm not suicidal, this isn't therapy."

 

"Then why do it?"

 

"You honestly want to know, don't you? This is really shaking up your world."

 

"Answer the question, Lola," Brian shoots back, eyes wandering around the room briefly before settling on Justin's Lola-face.

 

"It's fun? It's liberating?"

 

"Are those questions?" Brian asks with a smirk. Then Justin looks up at him and smiles, all glitter and bemusement and Brian's lips turn down into an argumentative frown. "You're a fucking man, not a woman."

 

"A gay man," Justin points out, fingers quickly rising to touch his barette as if to make sure it still looks okay.

 

"Still have a dick though, right?"

 

Justin laughs, head thrown back. His adam's apple bobs under the pale skin, and his left hand cups his balls through his long frilly shirt. "Yeah right, I'd never give that up."

 

"But you do... every time you dress up like a pussy."

 

"It's a form of expression. Welcome to the age of gender confusion. Embrace the chaos, Brian."

 

"Embrace it, huh?"

 

Lola has the nerve to lick her lips, slow and tantalizing. "You want to?"

 

Brian scoffs. "Like I said, princess, get in line."

 

"Maybe that's what you should do," Lola throws back. In one swift movement, she's got Shiny Latino Boy by the waist, and is grinding herself against him. Shiny Latino Boy is interested, and his hands push up the fluttery shirt to reveal Lola/Justin's perfect, round boy-ass encased in tight sparkly denim, little hips swirling and showing it off.

 

Brian needs another drink. 

 

No way is he attracted to a cross-dresser.

 

The bartender serves him two more glasses of Beam, which he throws back so fast, Mikey drifts in his direction, big brown eyes full of concern.

 

"Brian, what the fuck? Don't get so trashed tonight that we need to take you home. Ben and I were just about to leave."

 

"Lola can take him home. She drove me," Emmett says, waving his hand limply as he sips his Cosmo.

 

"Yeah, _Mikey_. The lovely gender-confusion-embracing _Lola_ can take me home. She's hell behind a wheel. Really knows how to work that stick shift."

 

"You certainly wouldn't know from experience, would you? Now that fine piece of ass over there," Lola points over her shoulder to a throughly debauched and fucked Shiny Latino Boy, " _he_ can crow about how I work my stick shift. I was definitely hell behind _his_ wheel."

 

Emmett laughs and Lola smiles at him self-satisfyingly, "Those creative plays on words were for you, honey."

 

Brian rolls his eyes.

 

"Enough already. I'm drowning in the estrogen."

 

Emmett makes a scoffing, outraged sort of sound, and Lola just laughs. 

 

"You know what?" Brian turns to face her, "You're getting on my fucking nerves."

 

She raises her chin and stares at him, all shining eyes and Cover Girl blush. "Why, because your insults don't bother me?"

 

"That has nothing to do with it."

 

"No, the fact that I'm _amused_ by you, that's the issue here. Bruising your ego, stud?"

 

Emmett can't help but interject a cunty " _me_ OW" and hiss somewhere in there. Brian wants to wipe that entertained expression off his face. And her face, too.

 

"I'm not nearly drunk enough for this," Brian groans. Two more shots, please. 

 

The bartender can read minds. Two glasses of Beam are slid in front of him, the whiteblue glowing light of the bar shining up through the amber liquid. 

 

"And _this_ , my dear sweet Lola, is classic Kinney avoidance behavior. As in, he's avoiding conceding defeat to us," Emmett explains to his little friend, bending down to stage whisper it in her ear so Brian can hear him.

 

"Fuck off, Honeycutt." Brian drawls, flashing him the middle finger.

 

"And on that fine note, I'm gonna go shake a tail feather. Joining me, darling?"

 

Lola waves him off, "Nah, go ahead. Maybe later. Have fun!"

 

The crowd swallows Emmett's tall, lanky queen-shape, but Brian can still see his hands, fluttering proudly with all the others. Emmett's all about the pride. That's probably why Brian's been able to stomach him. Even enjoy him sometimes.

 

"I love Emmett's shame." 

 

Lola leans next to him, smooth little elbows perched on the edge of the bar, as his back curves against it. It pushes his chest out, creating a long bow of delicately-covered boy torso. Brian wishes Justin would lose the get-up so he could run his tongue up the skin.

 

"What shame?"

 

"That's what I mean," Lola says, voice somehow standing out over the thumpa thumpa, "He doesn't have any."

 

The two shot glasses are now empty. Brian can make eye-contact again. Lola is waiting - she's looking right at him.

 

"Neither do you."

 

She seems struck by the compliment, but takes it in elegant stride.

 

"Who has time for that bullshit?" she says with a casual shrug. "Life's too short to hide. Be who you are, no apologies."

 

"No regrets." 

 

Brian shouldn't have said that so softly. Lola's pupils have just dilated. Only a little bit, but Brian notices. And strangely... he likes it.

 

She moves forward, just slightly, so that the edge of her fluttery shirt is brushing the front of his pants.

 

"All bets are off now," she tilts her face like a cat, cherry lips erotically close to his jaw, "No more rules for the rest of the night. I am going to do my damnedest to get what I want tonight, but you only get one shot - just one - to invite me to your place when Em and I drop you off."

 

When Lola pulls back, Brian misses the heat and smell of her breath - cinnamon and alcohol.

 

"And if I don't?"

 

She shrugs. "Then you'll never know, will you? I want to see if you really believe in no apologies, no regrets."

 

When did her hand end up on the waistband of his jeans? Brian was too distracted by her mouth to notice. And the challenge in her eyes. And that intent arch of her eyebrow. And the way she moved her head - dominating and submissive, all at one time.

 

Lola knows it, too.

 

"We'll see."

 

That's all he's going to give her, and for now it's enough. 

 

It won't be enough later on.

 

\- - -

 

It's that same later on when Brian is on his way back from the bathroom after taking a piss (and just the smidge of a bump. Really.) that he realizes what he's probably gotten himself into. And what his dick has gotten itself hard for.

 

Lola's standing under the stairs, lime green and sharp blue lights filtering through the grated metal, leaving long lines of black shadow across her blond hair and tiny butterfly body. Brian can see her lips against another boy's earlobe, and her hand between them is moving in a very distinct way. The boy's head is hanging back in ecstasy, and those lips are moving, moving, speaking. Dirty girl.

 

He watches as she slides her other arm around the boy's tight little waist, and then the hand disappears into the back of his cargos. A moving bump with a destination... under the fabric.... right to ground zero.

 

The boy comes on her feathery pastel something of a shirt, and she seems amused by it. Proud of him. Practically pats the fucking kid on the head. 

 

So, little Lola is a top dog. Cocky and sure of her "feminine" wiles. She had hinted at it before, practically licking her lips with satisfaction after fucking Shiny Latino Boy, but seeing it was a different thing.

 

Brian decides in an instant: he is going to invite her home. 

 

And teach puppy a few things about being a _real_ leader of the pack.

\- - -   
Instant updates, Lola icons at : Alantie [_means fallen](http://www.livejournal.com/community/_meansfallen)  



	2. Lola

Emmett ends up driving Lola's car: an old 1987 BMW that Brian approves of. It suits both sides of Justin's chaotic personality, and when Brian stumbles into the back seat, he finds himself thankful for the cool leather against his flushed face.

 

Lola drops down next to him, surprisingly ungraceful.

 

"It's been forever since I've sat in the back seat of my own car," she slurs just a little bit, laughing as she throws her little red sneakered feet over the back of the passenger side seat.

 

"I'm always in the back seat of my own car," Brian practically snorts, head rolling back onto the head rest. He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, all drunk and tingling.

 

"That's because we're always taking you home drunk, high, and fucked-out," pipes Emmett from the driver's seat. He opens the sunroof for some fresh cool breeze, and Lola leans over to stare out of it, head on Brian's shoulder.

 

"You're not always taking me home, Honeycutt. You don't have a car. Fuck, do you even have a license?" He scrunches up his face and tries to lean forward to interrogate Emmett some more, but the heavy weight of blondness and a red plastic barrette weighs him down. "What the fuck are you on?"

 

The question shakes Lola out of her daze, and her eyes fall back to Brian. "What?"

 

"What are you on? You're staring out the sunroof like it's the most fascinating fucking thing in this god-forsaken town, and we both know that's not true because that title belongs to _me_."

 

Lola's face is slack and pink and bright and childishly entertained. She licks her lips and talks against Brian's jaw, "I'm not on anything. I'm just watching the street lights flash by. They're gorgeous and fast like electricity."

 

Brian rolls his eyes and slings his arm over the back of Lola's seat. 

 

"That's because they ARE electricity, kid."

 

"Don't spoil his fun," Emmett warns, changing lanes like a pro, "Our Lola sees things in this world no one else can. That's why she's such a successful artist."

 

Brian doesn't hear that whole sentence because Lola has taken his left hand and put it between her - no no _no_. Strike that, that's definitely a 'his' - legs. The glitter on the denim makes the bulge there shine in the street lights. Brian starts to stroke.

 

She lifts her hips in time with his stroking, her eyes hooded as she licks the fruit-scented gloss off her lips. And in that one instant, just a second where her lashes open enough, and her eyes are blue, and sharp, and aware, and fucking _turned-on_ , and the hot swollen hardness pulses under Brian's hand, all of it combined makes this aching _need_ inside of Brian to lick that fruit-scented gloss off of Justin's pretty little Lola-lips for her.

 

So he does.

 

It's a man's mouth, everything about it. The faint bristly feeling of his chin, the width of his lips, the strong angle his tongue takes in Brian's mouth - it's all familiar. But there's the smell of strawberries between them, and Brian is pretty sure that his lips are going to have the barest tint of red on them once Lola pulls away.

 

Only he doesn't want her to.

 

Because Lola is one fucking great kisser... encouraging and aggressive. Beseeching. She searches Brian's teeth, and gums with her tongue, sucks at his bottom lip like it's the sustenance that Lola needs for Justin to go on. Or maybe it's the other way around, and just thinking about Lola needing Brian to survive makes him stroke this fucking artist's cock a little harder. God, he wants skin.

 

Emmett hasn't noticed the make-out session that has begun in the back seat, but he DOES hear the sound of Lola's zipper being yanked down. The ears of a bottom, jesus christ, to them a zipper is Pavlov's Bell.

 

"Whoa, easy boys!" he calls, swerving a bit from distraction. "Justin, you'll never forgive me tomorrow after you've had him if I let there be cum-stains on your vintage leather."

 

Lola pulls away gasping, and Brian thinks her ear looks positively delectable, under all that blond mess of hair. She tries to respond to Emmett, but can hardly get the words out, and Brian fucking _loves_ the fact that he turned this proud, saucy little princess into a quivering, horny little boy toy.

 

Yeah. That's what he thought. 

 

Lola's still a joke.

 

When they pull up in front of Brian's building on Tremont, Brian is more than ready to get Lola's ass into his loft. She's been princessing out all over the place for the last ten minutes of their ride, arguing with Emmett about stupid issues that Brian couldn't care less about; but he stays quiet and behaves because his hand is still resting on brief-covered hard, damp handful of groin between her legs, and his arm is slung around her quaint little shoulders. And her earlobe tastes good, all soft and fleshy and tiny.

 

"Emmett, don't fucking crash _Lola's_ car taking it back to your place, okay?" Brian warns, pushing open his door and sliding out. Lola's fingers are in his belt loop and she follows quickly.

 

"Wait wait," Emmett gasps, leaving the car running as he jumps out onto the sidewalk. "I'm supposed to take her car home, while you take her up to your loft and fuck her brains out?! Lola... Justin, are you _sure_ you wanna do this? Brian is an asshole... even more than you. He doesn't even like boys in drag."

 

"It's no rules for the rest of the night, Honeycutt," Brian repeats Lola's words as he jabs a finger (gently) into Emmett's spandex-covered chest, "She's coming with me. And coming, and coming and coming."

 

He walks backwards away from his friend, with big spooky eyes and waves with both hands. He really needs to stop doing shit like that in front of Lola. She rolls her eyes at him and puts her hand on Emmett's shoulder, whispering words Brian can't hear. But whatever it is, Emmett nods, and gives Brian one last withering glance before he drives Lola's shiny little blue beemer away.

 

And they're left alone on the damp sidewalk as the eery sound from a blind crosswalk warning echoes through the streets.

 

\- - - 

 

Lola looks severely out of place, and uneasily hot standing in Brian's loft of white light and smooth stainless steel lines. Usually there are older twinks, or muscle queens, or Abercrombie and Fitch models standing on Brian's glossed wood floor, staring around his haven with curious eyes and boners under their pants. 

 

But tonight, it's just her. Red toes emerging from a silvery hem, and her arms folded neatly over her soft polyester gauze blouse. She looks around with an artist's appreciation, and can't help but comment on the windows.

 

"This place is amazing," she says, impressed. "You must get awesome light."

 

"I guess so. I'm not here much in the day. Gotta make a living to afford my kingdom."

 

She shuffles like a petulant teenager to the window and pulls aside the curtain, city light framing her body.

 

"And a beautiful kingdom it is, King Kinney."

 

A flirtatious smile thrown over her shoulder is all Brian gets, and he decides that enough time has gone by. Enough blithering chit-chat, and definitely enough childish foreplay. It's time to get this show on the road.

 

Lola's body tenses up when he presses his chest to her back. Nervous laughter. Lola's hands reach up to clutch the windowsill.

 

"Shy, sunshine?"

 

Where the fuck did that pet name come from? Jesus christ, Kinney.

 

"A bit, all of a sudden," she admits in a reedy voice, "It's been a long time since I've gone to someone's place."

 

"Oh yeah? Prowl the back room's instead?" Her skin is like a magnet. Brian closes his fingers over her biceps, and she shivers, almost imperceptibly. 

 

"Something like that."

 

"Come on, I thought you were supposed to be seducing _me_ , here. The great drag princess was gonna show poor little King Kinney what's what."

 

She laughs, body loosened by the break in tension, by the dry little joke Brian managed to throw in there, when all he really wants to do is rip off her little Lola outfit. 

 

He wants Justin, damnit.

 

That boy underneath the get-up that is so completely comfortable with himself, so completely sure who he is, that it manifests itself in an iron flower - a little girl with a firm jaw. He's man boy girl woman artist Lola _Justin_. 

 

And fuck, yes, Brian will admit it: it's hot.

 

"You're right," she says with finality, and turns... all traces of shyness are gone, and suddenly the prowling cat, the fucking _minx_ from Babylon is back. One hand flat against Brian's chest, the other undoing his belt.

 

Yes, yes, fuck _yes_.

 

Come on, Lola, prove something to me.

 

Brian leads the way up to the bedroom by his pants, knowing that Lola won't let go even if someone offered her the world, and all the pretty make-up and jewelry in it.

 

"I was hoping the night would end up like this," she admits, pushing him back against the bed. He falls on it, his knees open and ready to intercept her body.

 

"Oh? I had great doubts that it would... then I saw you give that twink a hand job under the stairs, and _I_ had to see what all the fuss over _you_ was about." Brian cocks an eyebrow at her, and she smiles. Fucking smiles like she hasn't got a care in the world - and like she knows something that Brian doesn't.

 

Her hands flutter over his body, desperate but controlled, and remove Brian's clothing with surprising strength. And with each article of Lola Justin removes from himself, his voice becomes deeper and kind of rough like someone who smokes. Brian thinks it's intoxicating, but when Justin reaches up to remove the red plastic barrette, Brian puts his hand over it and stops him.

 

"Leave it on."

 

Justin hums under his breath, knowing eyes pale against the black of his mascara, and replies, "Gladly" with a bit of a whisp in his voice that makes Brian even harder.

 

A soft hand cups Brian's cock, palm sliding up and down the length with even strokes, and Brian throws his head back against the pillows of his bed, savoring the feel of Justin's naked body on his thighs.

 

"Your cock is so hard... and hot...mmm'n so _wet_ ," Justin leans forward to purr against his ear, making the words breathy and tangible. Brian's consciousness unravels.

 

"Fuck foreplay... I'm going to slide a condom onto it, just... like... this..." 

 

A condom packet rips open, and Brian waits for the rubber to unroll over his dick.

 

And when it never comes, he opens his eyes to see where it went.

 

... it's on fucking _Lola's_ fucking dick.

 

Fuck that, this wasn't the plan.

 

He's about to protest, opens his mouth to bitch at her, queen-out, be outraged - when Justin continues, still stroking Brian as his hips begin to grind against Brian's body. "And then you'll lube me up, so my ass is wet and slippery and _desperate_ for you to shove your cock into it. God, will I want it..."

 

"Justin..." Okay, his voice sounds _breathy_ , and _not_ fucking pleading, lest someone think otherwise.

 

Wet masculine fingers slide down Brian's balls and to his ass, gently prodding in and up... opening.

 

Four fingers, suddenly full. Oh my fucking god.

 

Justin whimpers a bit as his fingers scissor apart the muscles of Brian's hole. 

 

"And finally, when I can't take it anymore, I will beg for you to fuck me. I'll practically cry for it, because in that moment...nothing, _nothing_ can beat being fucked in the ass by a man."

 

Brian suddenly remembers how that feels. "Fuck, Justin..."

 

The fingers slide out and are replaced by Justin's cock - blunt, hard, and _pushing in._ And like a fucking slut, he pushes back, spreads himself, brings his knees up around Justin's trim little waist, and opens his mouth against the gasping one above it. More more more moremoremore.

 

Yeah, way to show him about being leader of the pack, Kinney. Christ.

 

\- - - 

To be continued...


	3. Lola

\- - - 

 

He feels stretched and empty now that Justin's cock is out of his ass. It's been a long time since he's felt like that. That memory is saturated in the smell of cheap ass industrial cleaner, and the feel of a locker against his face as a man with a whistle around his neck slides out of him.

 

Justin's memory will be soaked in glitter and sharp witty tones, and that's enough to make Brian's cock feel a little flushed again. Even as Justin lays sprawled next to him. Even as he hopes that the memory is replaced by another one with Justin, and another one, and another one.

 

He isn't going to admit it though. Hoping is for pussies. Brian just _does._

 

Justin's moppy blond hair is tickling the skin of his arm, and when he goes to smack it off, his hand stays there, tangles, winds into it. Justin's scalp is damp, and Brian likes the feel of it against his fingertips.

 

"No apologies, King Kinney," Justin says in a compliment masked as a sigh. Brian watches his black eyelashes flutter, and he taps his index finger against Justin's temple.

 

"And no regrets, Princess Lola."

 

"That's Queen Justin to you."

 

Brian chuffs into his pillow and reaches blindly into the dim dark to find the pack of cigarettes he _knows_ he left on his night stand. 

 

"Light me one."

 

Well, now. "Someone's turned into a bossy twat here, and I know it isn't me."

 

Justin's head tucks and rolls until those blue eyes settle on Brian's face, blond strands whipped all over in front of them like straw in the wind. A left hand wiggles out from under his pillow and ends up on Brian's chin, gripping it in a way that reminds Brian of his first grade teacher.

 

This night is just full of fucking memories now, isn't it?

 

But maybe that's what makes this _Justin_ so alluring. So... enigmatic. A tight little body of unruly delicacy - and unprecedented depth. The way Lola challenged him from the get-go, and how she grinned with respect. How he ignited things within Brian that had been buried in the shadowed, sharp recesses of his mind. Nobody touched those places, and now Justin was doing it with a shimmering seduction and an arched eyebrow of intelligence.

 

"Thanks, by the way." is what he says, still gripping Brian's chin.

 

"For what?"

 

Brian's voice is softer than he would like, but then Justin nudges himself up further, so he's hovering just inches above him. Eyes perfectly even, and body perfectly covered. And it's _good_.

 

"For letting inviting me to stay. For giving me a chance. For proving what kind of man you are."

 

There's a flush rising in Brian's face, and fucking hell, he will not blush, damnit.

 

So, he rolls his eyes instead, and Justin gives his chin a fond little shake.

 

"Don't take over my twat status, ass," he says in a pouty-sort of voice, and Brian practically _feels_ his eyes get bright. His hands smooth up Justin's back and grip his shoulders, holding him there. 

 

Justin continues, "And thanks for letting me top you. I know you don't do that often."

 

"Try never."

 

Justin's lips roll into a quiet, knowing little smirk and he nods just once before asking permission with his eyes to kiss Brian. 

 

Permission fucking granted. It's about time. Jesus.

 

Sucking on Justin's tongue has been severely under-practiced during the course of this night, Brian decides with a mouth full of tongue and saliva that isn't his. Justin whimpers a little into the kiss, and is moving to straddle Brian's waist, when suddenly they roll, and Brian tucks Justin's little body underneath his. Like a child cradling a toy. Or a lioness cradling her cub. Or a stud cradling his twink.

 

Or his Lola.

 

They stay like that for a while, just kissing wetly. Limbs tangled in a flurry of dried sweat and rough hair, and hands squeezing and groping for sensitive spots and places that tense when touched. Brian can't get enough of the way Justin's hair smells, or how his neck tastes, or the heavy weight of his legs around Brian's ass, and he thinks that some part of his sanity has just slipped away, never to be seen again.

 

Fuck. It's extreme contentment all of a sudden, and when the hell did that happen? Where did it come from? Why is it that suddenly all the nights of those slippery boys and Abercrombie and Fitch models suddenly boil down to the feel of Justin's little body and red-stained lips nestled underneath him, on his bed?

 

Brian needs a cigarette. Or twenty.

 

Justin watches him light two cigarettes with an intuitive expression. And they both take drags at the same time, like synchronized swimmers for lung cancer.

 

"You like New York?"

 

Brian is curious. He always wanted to go to New York eventually. Kudos to the boy who could.

 

"It's better than L.A."

 

"Oh?"

 

"I'm actually moving back to Pittsburgh, though." Justin admits in a breath of smoke that goes wafting up to the rafters overhead. Brian is watching the smoke, Justin is watching him.

 

"What the fuck for?"

 

"I just bought a gallery off of North Front Street. I plan on showcasing local artists, and maybe some of my own stuff.

 

"Huh."

 

Justin laughs, puts out his cigarette and buries his nose in Brian's stomach.

 

"Don't worry, I'm not going to start stalking you." He grins against the skin, "Unless you want me to."

 

And when Brian just shrugs, suddenly there's a face burrowing into his crotch like it's the only home the owner of the face ever wants to know.

 

Here in Pittsburgh. And right in this bed.

 

So Brian puts out his cigarette, and he let's it make it's offer. Because suddenly, Brian doesn't seem to mind something permanent.

 

\- - -

 

They move together, hard and fast, Justin on all fours and swinging back to accept Brian's cock with eager grunts. The sun is rising somewhere behind the sheer drapes and thick clouds, and the glow that is cast over the room is eery and erotic. Brian loves how Justin arches his back, the way he swings back his hand and grips Brian's ass or thigh like a lifeline, and when Brian tangles his hand in Justin's hair and wrenches his head back, they both come almost simultaneously. They collapse, all intertwined and sated, on the damp sheets, and Brian can't help but lick at Justin's wet, gasping little lips that still taste like strawberry lip gloss and whisper words of admiration for one of the hottest fucks he's ever had. 

 

Forty-five minutes later, they do it again. 

 

And it isn't until ten-thirty, with a belly full of homemade omelets, that Justin leaves - but not without slipping his red barrette into Brian's front pocket, and kissing him the way only a lover knows how to.

 

Brian still doesn't mind.

 

\- - -

 

Babylon is fucking hot tonight.

 

Okay, Babylon is fucking hot _every_ night. It's because it never changes. It has the same constant beat, and the same half-naked boys. It's reliable.

 

Just like his presence there is. 

 

It isn't long after he's in the door that he's propositioned. He hasn't even made his way to the bar or gotten a drink yet, but some random kid who knows of him, but hasn't had the honor of getting to _really_ know him decides to be brave enough to offer.

 

"So... wanna fuck?"

 

"That's your witty repartee? That's supposed to make me want to fuck your brains out? "Wanna fuck"?" 

 

The kid shrugs, looks clueless.

 

"It usually works, dude. I mean, come on, right? I'm hot."

 

Brian snerks, eyes starting to wander. "Well, hey, all the power to you, buddy. Get lost."

 

"What?"

 

Brian's eyes land on Justin. Really Justin. Completely Justin. He's standing at the bar with Michael and Emmett, in cargoes and a tight little tank-top with a pointless graphic spanning the front. He's laughing about something, all white teeth and shaggy blond hair and a perfect nose. Fuck, his mouth is...

 

Brian looks back down at the kid. "I said, get lost. I have a better offer."

 

The kid looks around in confusion, "From who?"

 

Justin's eyes land on his. Blue, intelligent, sparkling, and amused.

 

"From him."

 

Brian pulls a little bit of red plastic out of his pocket and holds it up for Justin to see in the flashing lights. Arches an eyebrow at him pointedly, and Justin laughs and puts his drink down. Joins him.

 

"Hey."

 

His voice still stands out over the vibrating dance music. His fingers close around Brian's elbow.

 

Elegant, interesting, enigmatic, beautiful, boy, girl, Lola, Justin. _Him._

 

"Hey."

 

And they grin at each other like pussies. Like pussies who have a secret they're not going to share. 

 

Because the bottom fucking line is: Brian Kinney still only fucks men. 

 

Red barrettes are just a bonus.

 

\--

THE END.


End file.
